


fixing a hole (where the rain gets in)

by Biscay



Category: Home Fires (UK TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Home Fires 2016 Summer Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:42:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7886203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Biscay/pseuds/Biscay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After all, she and Alison work together, and she hasn’t just uprooted herself and moved halfway across Cheshire to get a fresh start only to repeat her mistakes. That would be ridiculous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for @donnamurphy for the prompt "Alison/Teresa: modern-day teacher au" and it got a bit away from me because I have zero chill when it comes to this pairing :)

“It’s not like I mind driving you,” says Louise, Teresa’s youngest and most obliging sibling, as the line in the middle of the road disappears and the wild hedgerows begin to close in, “but are you sure you’ll be all right without a car here?”

“Yes,” Teresa says firmly. “I’m around the corner from the school, I’ve got my bike, and there’s a bus into town every hour - I’ll be fine.”

The trade for not having to transport all her worldly goods via three buses and at least as many trains from Liverpool to Great Paxford is having to put up with a twofold annoyance: Louise’s concern about Teresa’s new job and her non-stop playlist of 60’s pop. The move thus far has been smoother than Teresa expected; some non-essentials ended up boxed away in her parents’ garage, but everything else fits easily in the back of her sister’s Ford Fiesta. She’s been in text communication with her new landlady – Louise seemed incredulous that somewhere as rural as Great Paxford would even get mobile reception – and unless the satnav is leading them very much astray, they should arrive in good time.

“Are you not worried you’ll get bored?” Louise asks.

“Not that worried,” Teresa says, staring out the window, “besides, bored might do me good.”

“Good god, she did a number on you, didn’t she?”

Teresa rolls her eyes. The third annoyance: a constant desire to discuss Teresa’s recent breakup.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Look, we’re nearly there,” Louise tactfully changes the subject and points at a signpost poking out of the brambly hedgerow, “and I think I can see the church.”

* * *

The cottage is smaller than it looked in the pictures, and the curtains and wallpaper are a few decades out of date, but her landlady, though a little intimidating, seems nice enough. An extremely well-spoken, well-dressed woman in her sixties, she introduces herself as Joyce Cameron, president of the Great Paxford WI, chair of the board of governors, and several other titles that Teresa forgets as Joyce says them, too worried that Louise will start laughing.

Joyce gives them a tour of the cottage – living room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom – and explains how to work the heating. The wireless router, sitting anachronistically on a table straight out of the 70’s, blinks intermittently.

“The password is ‘password'” Joyce explains.

Louise laughs. “Of course it is.”

Teresa discreetly elbows her sister, “thank you, Joyce. I think I’ll be very happy here.”

“You have my number, please message me if there is anything you need,” Joyce says, handing over a set of keys, “I’ll leave you to get settled in. You’re here until next summer, correct?”

“That’s right,” Teresa nods, “a full academic year.”

“On behalf of the village, welcome to Great Paxford, Teresa. And do give my regards to the headmistress.”

* * *

“That’s the last box.” Louise says, balancing it on the pile, then draining her mug of coffee, “are you sure you don’t want a hand unpacking?”

Teresa sets down her own box and wipes a few beads of sweat from her brow. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine. You should head back, your kids will be missing you.”

“They’ll miss you more.”

Teresa cringes. “You promised you wouldn’t-”

“Sorry! Sorry.” Louise looks genuinely apologetic. “They understand, as do I, that you need some space.”

“It’s only for a year,” she#'/ says, “and I’ll see you all at half-term.”

Louise opens her arms wide, “come here.”

Their hug lasts for a good minute – Fenchurches are nothing if not physically affectionate – and the parting is hard but Teresa knows it’s for the best.

“Thanks for driving me.”

“Any time, I mean it,” Louise pulls two CDs from her handbag and hands them over, “and here’s a housewarming present from me, to remind you of home.”

Teresa turns the CDs over and is completely unsurprised to find them labelled Ultimate Beatles, disc 1 and 2. She pulls her sister in for one last hug.

After waving Louise off from the doorway, Teresa makes a start on unpacking her boxes. The bedroom wardrobe is a little musty, but after a quick wipe-around with a cloth she hangs her clothes – mostly work stuff, some bits bought specially for living in the countryside – and there aren’t enough to touch the sides anyway. Her books, a good mix of novels and academic texts, are split between the shelves in the bedroom and living room, although both end up still looking a little bare. The food bought and boxed up by her mother, as if she’s going away to university for the first time, takes a little while to unpack and eventually fills the kitchen cupboards. The last things to sort out are her folders; lesson plans, the class register, all the materials she’s been carefully reviewing since she accepted the job a fortnight ago. She leafs through them, already knows every piece of information contained within, and places them on her nightstand. Then she makes another cup of tea, folds up the empty cardboard boxes and admires her handiwork.

It’s not home, not yet, but it will do.

* * *

Great Paxford Primary is only a ten-minute cycle from her cottage, but she leaves with plenty of time, taking care to enjoy the scenery as she heads into the centre of the village. She sets her bike in the rack by the school entrance and reports to reception.

“You’re the new Class 2 teacher, right?” the receptionist, a cheerful girl with a nametag reading Claire, asks brightly.

“That's right; I’m Teresa Fenchurch, I’ve got an appointment with Frances Barden at 8 o'clock.”

“Of course; Let me just get you a badge-” Claire passes over a badge on a lanyard and presses a button to open the door. “I’ll bring you through now.”

Claire points out things of interest as she leads Teresa down the hallway – the ICT suite, the hall, the staff room – and in no time at all, they are in front of the headmistress’ office. Claire knocks and pokes her head around the door.

“Mrs Barden? I’ve got Teresa Fenchurch for you.”

“Thank you, Claire.”

“Good luck!” Claire whispers encouragingly as she leaves them to it.

* * *

Rationally, Teresa shouldn’t be taken aback by Frances – they met before at Teresa’s interview and she’s about as physically intimidating as Claire – but she commands a strong presence, especially in what is clearly her domain. The room is small but decorated grandly, a mahogany desk an impressive barrier between them.

“Teresa, good to see you again,” Frances says, standing to shake Teresa’s hand, “I trust your move went well?”

“Very well,” Teresa nods, “still getting my bearings, but I’m unpacked and settling in.”

“That’s good to hear. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know.”

“That’s very kind of you. I’m really looking forward to getting started here.”

“We’re very much looking forward to having you; it’s going to be wonderful to have someone with as much SEN experience as you here while Miriam’s on maternity leave. I’ll take you over to your classroom and introduce you to the staff before the children arrive - is there anything I can help with before we get started?”

Aside from the expected first-day nerves, Teresa is feeling good, even tentatively excited, about her new role. She has Frances to thank, who has been in email correspondence since her appointment and has been extremely forthcoming with details about Teresa’s new class, the curriculum, and what to expect. Her first impression of Frances was that she was like a steamroller in human form, and very little in their subsequent interactions has challenged that. Teresa shakes her head. “No, thank you.”

“Excellent. I’ll show you around and introduce you to the staff you’ll be working with. Welcome to Great Paxford Primary School, Ms Fenchurch.”


	2. Chapter 2

Teresa remembers the general layout of the school from the induction she had at interview, but it’s still a lot to process. The change from working in a large urban school to such a rural one was always going to be a bit of an adjustment, but, Teresa had firmly decided in the wake of her breakup with Connie, change was definitely good.

“As you know, Class 2 has a proportionally high number of children identified as having special educational needs,” Frances says as they walk briskly across the quiet school grounds; Teresa feels a little foolish for being surprised at how much greener and better-tended the grounds are compared to inner-city Liverpool, “Alison Scotlock, who taught your class last year, has done some excellent work in making sure the children are supported in the classroom and at home. It’s my hope that you’ll be able to continue that as they begin to prepare for their year 3 SATs, especially with regards to your background.”

“Of course.”

They head into a grand building with wide corridors and children’s work displayed on the walls. Frances leads Teresa into one of the classrooms; a teacher Teresa remembers from her interview is sat at her desk, engrossed in planning. 

“This is our Class 3 teacher and head of Key Stage 1, Sarah Collingbourne.”

“Good to see you again,” Sarah says, standing to shake Teresa’s hand.

“Our new Class 2 teacher, Teresa Fenchurch.” Frances says, almost proudly.

Sarah’s smile is warm and welcoming, “wonderful to see you, we’re so pleased to have you here.”

“Sarah’s been very keen to have you on board,” Frances says in a stage whisper, “we don’t currently have anyone with as much experience teaching SEN children as yourself.”

Sarah raises an eyebrow. “You were pushing just as hard to appoint Teresa as I was.”

“Well, I’ll leave you with Sarah to show you around the department,” Frances says, “I’ll come and find you at lunchtime, see how you’re getting on.”

“Your classroom is over here,” Sarah leads Teresa across the hallway to a glass-panelled door with ‘Class 2 - Ms Fenchurch’ written in Comic Sans on a laminated sign. She opens the door to reveal a spacious, brightly-coloured classroom with large windows overlooking the grounds, “it’s a bit bare at the moment.”

“It’s wonderful,” Teresa says, taking it in.

“The cloakroom area’s over here. Pat, our teaching assistant, has labelled the pegs already. Arts and crafts cupboard is here. You’ve got your class register there, your whiteboard – maybe not as high-tech as you’re used to, but-”

Teresa has taught at several schools across Liverpool, during and after qualifying as a teacher, a polarised mix of extremely privileged and extremely deprived. Great Paxford, Teresa had discovered after some googling prior to interview, is an affluent village, but its catchment area includes several villages and hamlets uncharitably classed as ‘rural poor’. The classroom is well-kept, but peeling a little at the edges: scuff marks here and there, reading books and materials past their prime. It’s what she expected, more or less, and Teresa is determined to make the best of it. “It’s great,” she says honestly.

“I’ll just introduce you to the staff here before the children arrive; I know it’s a lot to take in, but we’re a small school and you’ll learn everyone’s names soon enough.”

“Thank you.”

“This is Pat Simms,” Sarah says, leading Teresa into an adjacent classroom – ‘Class 1: Mrs Scotlock’ - with number-lines and alphabets lining the walls, where two middle-aged women are standing in conversation, “our utterly invaluable teaching assistant, and Alison Scotlock, Class 1 teacher.”

Teresa shakes both hands, Pat’s smile wide and welcoming, Alison’s much more reserved.

“Alison obviously taught your class last year, so you’ll be working quite closely with her; any queries about the children or lessons, she’s your woman.”

“That’s great,” Teresa says. Alison nods, but she doesn’t say anything.

“How are you finding things so far?” asks Pat.

“It’s going well; I’ve just about learned where everything is-” Teresa begins, but the school bell interrupts.

“I’ll bring your class through,” Pat says assuringly, “you go and get everything ready.”

* * *

Frances emailed the class list, complete with photographs of the children, ahead of time, so as she goes through the register, Teresa recognises and remembers everybody’s names and faces. Teresa introduces herself, assigns seating and eases the children in with a simple writing exercise; the children are excitable about being back together after the long summer, but Teresa can’t identify any behavioural problems more severe than what she was used to in Liverpool. As they get on with their work, she manages to spend a little time with each child, moving from table to table to ask the children about their writing, their summer, themselves.

When the bell rings for breaktime, Teresa herds her class out to the playground – some of the Key Stage 2 teachers are on duty – then returns to her classroom and finally allows herself to relax. It’s a big change, she considers, but nothing she won’t be able to handle. Great Paxford seems to be a lovely village, with a lovely school, with some lovely staff.

Well…

It’s not that Alison Scotlock isn’t lovely – she probably is – but Teresa has never been especially good with reticent people. It’s not like Teresa doesn’t have secrets, a private life of her own, but she’s not sure quite what to make of someone as enigmatic as Mrs Scotlock, especially if they’re going to be working together.

They’ll get to know each other soon enough, she supposes. She looks out of her window – still can’t get over the view of the grounds, her last classroom overlooked the school’s car park – and watches the groundsman heft hedge trimmings into a wheelbarrow. He turns around and Teresa realises that it isn’t a he at all; it’s a woman in overalls, hair wrapped up in a red scarf. Teresa waves and the groundswoman (groundskeeper?) waves back.

See? People here are lovely.


	3. Chapter 3

Lunches at Great Paxford Primary are a much more social affair than Teresa is accustomed to. It varied from school to school, but teachers in Liverpool would generally eat in their classrooms, using the staff room to make tea or microwave a meal, but mostly keep to themselves – breaktimes, after all, were a respite from the noise. Connie would always greet her with a smile, catch her in conversation; looking back, their relationship was always rather inevitable. Teresa pushes thoughts of Connie from her mind as Frances and Sarah make their way over.

“Nearly the end of your first week: how are you finding things?” Frances asks.

“Good; the class is very well-behaved. Their reading comprehension is higher than I expected.”

“Pat says the children have really taken to you,” says Sarah, “have you had any problems?”

If Sarah were a less kind, welcoming person, this conversation would feel a lot like an interrogation. “None, really,” Teresa says, “it’s been wonderful getting to know the children. I’ve been rearranging my lesson plans a little, but I think it should all work well.”

“I’ve had a chat with Alison,” Sarah says, “and if it would help you get a better feeling for the school as a whole, you’re more than welcome to come and sit in on our classes when you’ve got a free period.”

Teresa feels at once very welcomed and well-looked-after, and a little like she has a pair of concerned mothers she didn’t ask for. She looks down at her lunchbox and considers that this is what living in the countryside is probably all about.

“Thank you,” she says, “I’ll do that.”

* * *

When they were first introduced, Teresa idly wondered what kind of teacher Alison would be; so quiet, a little awkward – would she even be able to control her classes?

Taking up Sarah’s suggestion, while her class is across the school attending their biweekly music lesson, Teresa sits in on one of Alison’s classes. Alison, while entirely professional, seems a little perturbed by her presence. Teresa is usually rather good at reading people, but can’t tell if the awkwardness between them is Teresa reacting to Alison or vice-versa. She can’t put her finger on it - she’s worked with people who flat-out disliked her before, and has had more than one co-worker she couldn’t stand, but this is much more subtle. A slight chafing, like a new shoe rubbing a heel. It will pass, Teresa thinks, with time and perseverance.

“Good morning everyone,” Alison addresses the class, “as you’ve all noticed, we’ve got a visitor in class this morning: Miss Fenchurch, who’s going to be at Great Paxford Primary for a year while Mrs Brindsley is away. I want you all to be on your best behaviour for her.”

Some of the children sit a little straighter in their chairs, already eager to please their new teacher, and Teresa smiles to herself. The lesson begins and five minutes into Alison’s maths class, Teresa feels guilty for ever having doubted. Alison is engaging, interesting, and the class of five- and six-year-olds is responding excellently to her. The class is mixed-ability and Alison has prepared exercises for the children with a variety of learning methods.

Teresa spends some time with a few children who have been identified as needing some extra help, and the learning materials in Alison’s class are limited but fit in well with the overall lesson plan. As she crouches next to a little boy who explains, with stilted language but surprising confidence, the difference between tens and ones, Teresa begins to understand why her own class, taught by Alison the previous year, is so capable.

“Please make sure the multi-link is back in the tray before you go out to play,” Alison says as the class is dismissed, “that includes you, Jensen. Thank you, Miss Fenchurch.”

Teresa helps the children pick up the cubes and collects the trays as the children rush out to the playground.

“That was great,” she says genuinely. She hopes Alison doesn’t think she’s being patronising – it’s not her place to comment on another teacher’s methods at all – but she wants Alison to know how impressed she is.

“Thank you,” Alison says. She looks pleased, at least; not as animated as when she was leading the class, but some of the awkwardness has cleared. She begins leafing through the children’s maths books, so Teresa simply thanks her and leaves to prepare for her next class.

* * *

Teresa and Alison don’t see much of each other for the rest of the week; aside from sharing lunchtime monitoring duties and sitting in on one another’s assemblies, Teresa is too busy keeping up with her class to spend time socialising. It’s not until the next Tuesday, as she’s going through the picture books in the reading corner after school, carrying out sellotape repairs where necessary, that there’s a knock at her door.

“Teresa?” Alison asks, poking her head around the door. Teresa dimly registers that this is the first time Alison’s called her by her first name. She stands up, sellotape in one hand, _We’re Going on a Bear Hunt_ in the other.

“Yes?”

“Your class has music tomorrow morning, is that right?”

“Um,” Teresa thinks for a second, “yes they do. Why?”

“Could you- do you think you could do me a favour?” Alison looks a little flustered.

“What is it?”

“Do you like dogs?”

“Sorry, what?”

“It’s my dog, Boris. He needs to go to the vet, he’s not been well - I have to take him straight from work, you see,”

This is, by a considerable margin, the longest conversation they’ve had. Alison has her arms wrapped around herself and is barely meeting Teresa’s eyes, but she’s actually talking.

“I hate to ask, but would you consider keeping an eye on him for me during second period tomorrow? He’ll be in the staff room – Frances has said it’s fine, but -”

“Of course,” Teresa says. She doesn’t know why she agrees, she doesn’t know the first thing about dogs – except, as Alison finally looks her in the eye and smiles gratefully, she's struck that this might be more than simple eagerness to please. She’s going to have to be careful or this might be a problem.

* * *

The following morning, Alison walks Teresa over to the staff room, where a medium-sized dog that seems to be more hair than anything else is curled up in a basket in the corner.

“Thank you,” Alison says genuinely, and Teresa is pleased that she can do this, if it means Alison will like her. It sounds ridiculous - Teresa doesn’t usually mind if people like her or not – but, like Sarah said, they’ll be working closely together, and if an hour’s dogsitting is what it takes to clear the air between them, Teresa’s happy to oblige.

“It’s not a problem at all.”

“I’ve asked Pat to come and take over during lunch, and I’ll be with him this afternoon. Just be careful not to let him out. He’s not very good with children and the last thing we need is him loose in the school.”

“Of course.”

“I do… appreciate this.”

“It’s fine, Alison,” Teresa says, “you’d best head over to your class. We’ll be fine here.”

Alison nods and leaves them to it.

“You know, I can’t get a read on your mistress,” Teresa says, absently stroking Boris as she flicks through Miriam’s lesson plans.

Boris yawns in response.

“It’s all right for you – she likes you already.”

* * *

Ten minutes into the uneventful dogsitting session, Teresa reaches into her bag for a pen. She rummages around the corners and pockets of the bag to no avail. She sighs and hunts around the staffroom – there are mugs in the cupboards and newspapers on the counter, but not a pen or pencil to be found.

She eyes Boris curled up in his bed, probably ill with whatever Alison’s taking him to the vet for, and decides that leaving him for just a moment as she pops across the corridor to get a pen from Claire at Reception will almost certainly be fine.

It isn’t. As soon as Teresa opens the staffroom door, Boris bolts out of the room and then - one of the double doors has been stupidly left propped open - out of the building, before Teresa can do anything.

“Boris!” she shouts after him, but he’s gone.

“Oh no.”

* * *

Teresa spends the best part of ten minutes wandering the grounds, holding Boris’ lead, not really sure where to even begin, shouting Boris’ name. She turns yet another corner – the grounds of this school are actually endless - and spots a familiar figure.

“Can I help you?” the groundskeeper asks, doing a very good job of not commenting on Teresa’s manic appearance.

“Have you seen a dog anywhere?” Teresa asks desperately.

“A dog?”

“A – I don’t know what kind. Ridiculously fluffy. Brown nose.”

“You don’t mean Boris?”

“Yes, Boris! I was watching him for Alison-”

“Oh, she’s going to kill you,” she laughs, which doesn’t help at all. “Sorry. I’ll help you look for him. I’m Steph, by the way.”

“Teresa. Thanks Steph, I really appreciate it.”

Even with Steph’s knowledge of the grounds, after fifteen minutes they’ve found neither hide nor hair of Boris. Teresa is about ready to go and pack her bags and move back to the city. She leaves the lead with Steph and heads back to the staff room, where she finds Alison anxiously pacing. She rounds on Teresa as soon as she sees her.

“Where is he?”

“He- he ran out the door-”

“You’ve lost him?” in an instant, Teresa’s perception of Alison as a quiet, placid person is shattered. Alison’s eyebrows furrow, her mouth twists – she’s furious. “He’s sick!”

“I’m so sorry; I’ve been out looking for him – we’ll find him, Alison-”

Alison pushes past Teresa and out the door. Teresa can’t offhand think of a time in her life when she’s felt more guilty. She follows.

Splitting up seems to be the best course of action – they can cover more ground, and there’s less risk of Alison actually murdering her – and the grounds that once impressed Teresa with their grandness are simply obstacles, a hundred plants and bushes for the cursed dog to hide behind.

“I found him!” the sweetest three words in the English language. Teresa whirls around to see Steph running over, holding Boris’ lead, the dog trotting obediently at her side as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

“Oh, thank god. Thank you Steph.”

“Found him with his nose down a rabbit hole. Where’s Alison?”

“This way,”

Alison spots them from across the playground and runs over, anxiety written across her face. She kneels down and holds him close.

“Thank you Steph,” Alison says. Teresa opens her mouth to apologise but children are beginning to filter from the school hall, where they’ve finished their lunch, into the playground. Before she can say anything, Alison marches off back to the staff room, Boris in tow.

“She’ll get over it,” Steph says assuringly.

Teresa isn’t so sure.


	4. Chapter 4

Teresa spends the evening and following morning almost consumed with guilt - during first period literacy one of her pupils even asks her if she’s okay – but at breaktime, after she sends the children outside to run around, Alison appears at her door, holding two mugs of tea.

She hands a one to Teresa by way of a peace offering. “I wanted to apologise.”

Teresa takes the tea, grateful to have something to do with her hands. “Alison, I’m the one that lost him, I should be-”

“You were doing me a favour, and I absolutely should not have gone off like I did.” Alison still doesn’t meet Teresa’s eyes, but she’s not shouting, so Teresa is counting this conversation as a success. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but it’s just me and Boris at home.”

“Oh.”

“He’s extremely important to me. It doesn’t excuse my behaviour but… you should know.”

Teresa doesn’t understand much about Alison, but she does know that the apology isn’t easy. “Thank you. And I am really very sorry for letting him loose.”

Alison smiles; it is small and shy but it is there, and it makes Teresa smile too. “You should stop apologising.”

“Right. Sorry.” Teresa realises what she’s said and scrunches her face. “Is he – did his appointment go all right?”

“He needed an operation - I’m waiting to hear. He’s not as young as he used to be.” Alison’s expression turns cloudy, “I’m just - so worried they’ll say there’s nothing they can do-”

Teresa stops herself from making meaningless platitudes by looking extremely sympathetic and sipping her tea.

As if on cue, Alison’s phone rings, a loud noise in the quiet classroom. Alison puts down her mug and scrabbles for the phone in her bag. “Yes?”

Alison takes several sharp intakes of breath as she listens to the person on the other end. Teresa, heart in her mouth, sets her mug to one side.

“I see. Thank you.” Alison looks up and her face breaks into a wide, relieved smile. “Kidney stones – his operation went well. He’s going to be fine.”

Teresa pulls Alison into a tight hug. “Thank god!”

After a few seconds during which Alison doesn’t respond to the hug, Teresa considers that she’s tremendously overstepped her bounds and any progress she’s made in making the other teacher not hate her has just come undone. But then Alison’s bird-boned arms tentatively return the embrace; it’s not like Teresa’s starved for affection, she’s only been away from her family for a week, but the hug which was meant to comfort Alison fills Teresa with warmth. Teresa releases her and apologises.

Alison gives her a smile, kind and full of relief. “No more apologies,” she says firmly.

* * *

The question of where Alison’s husband might be is a rather invasive thought, Teresa discovers that evening, as she curls up on the sofa with a book. She rationalises that it’s simply curiosity that he’s apparently not at home, but Alison still wears a wedding ring and carries his name. Pat has been very forthcoming about her divorce and atrocious ex-husband, but neither Alison nor anyone else has a word to say about Mr Scotlock.

Might he be in the military, posted overseas? Could they be separated, maybe awaiting a divorce? He might have passed away – it would certainly explain Alison’s anxiety about Boris’ operation. She puts on one of her sister’s CDs by way of a distraction, an attempt to focus on something other than the teacher she barely knows. The distraction lasts for about the length of a single track. Teresa sighs, bookmarks her page, and heads upstairs for an early night. It’s none of her business, anyway.

* * *

Friday marks the end of her second full week at Great Paxford Primary. It’s been such a busy time, learning timetables, names, where everything in the collection of buildings is, that Teresa has fallen asleep before 9pm each evening, exhausted from the day’s activities. This weekend, she decides, will be dedicated to scoping out the village and getting to know her new home.

Saturday morning dawns clear and bright, and she leaves her bicycle in the garden – if she’s going to take everything in, the exploration will be best done on foot. September is a lovely look for Great Paxford; the crops in the fields are plentiful, the air carries the smell of honeysuckle, and the Virginia creeper clinging to walls and houses around the village is midway through its transformation from green to bright red and orange. Teresa takes side-roads and cuts along public bridleways, mapping the town in her head. She stands for a rest atop a hill on the village’s outskirts, marvelling at the uninterrupted view of rural Cheshire, when she spots a familiar figure – pair of figures – making their way towards her.

“Oh you poor thing,” Teresa says, kneeling down to stroke Boris, who happily licks her hand, “the cone of shame isn’t a dignified look, is it?”

“He’s been feeling very sorry for himself,” Alison says. Her weekend attire isn’t much different to what she wears to school, Teresa can’t help but notice. She’s still in a long skirt and knitted jumper, but she’s wearing walking boots and her hair is still curly but loose, blowing about in the Autumn breeze.

“Is he all right?”

“He’s doing much better,” Alison says, then looks a little sheepish, “he doesn’t usually… like other people.”

“Are you a choosy soul?” Teresa asks, and Boris rolls over so Teresa can rub his belly. A set of tidy stitches are beginning to heal and Teresa carefully avoids them, “I can respect that.”

“He’s chosen you, all right,” Alison observes with a smile.

Boris whines when Teresa gives him a final pat and stands up. “I’m sorry Boris, I don’t want to interrupt your walk; I’ll let you both get on.”

Alison considers for a moment. “Where are you going?”

“I’m just exploring the village; I haven’t had much of a chance to see it yet.”

“We’ll leave you in peace-”

“I don’t-” Teresa says, “I don’t mind tagging along with you both for a bit if you don’t.”

Alison nods. Teresa suspects it’s because she’s somehow gained Boris’ approval. “We don’t mind.”

“Great.”

They make their way back down the hill together, and Alison seems happy enough to keep the conversation going. “Did you know that this land is farmed by Steph?”

“Steph from school?”

“She and her husband farm most of the fields around here. They live over there,” Alison points across the hill, to a farmhouse nestled between patchwork fields.

“Everyone seems to know everyone here,” Teresa says, carefully picking her way down the well-trod path.

“They do,” Alison nods, “it certainly takes some getting used to. How long have you been here?”

“Just since last Sunday. How about you?”

“Twenty-one years. I can’t imagine anywhere else now.”

“It seems like the kind of place that can just draw you in,” Teresa looks over at the town and Alison draws to a stop beside her, “especially on a day like today.”

“I suppose so,” Alison says, absently tucking some flyaway blonde hair behind her ear. The movement exposes her neck and Teresa determinedly doesn’t stare, “what made you decide to come here?”

“I needed a change,” Teresa admits, “a change of scenery, some perspective; the closest thing I could get to a change in career – I could never leave teaching, mind.”

“Was- is everything all right?”

“I’m okay,” Teresa says automatically, to deflect, to reassure Alison, but she realises it’s actually the truth. She and Connie were never going to last – they burned too brightly, too fiercely – but being the one to end it didn’t lessen the hurt. But her plan for a fresh start in a new place seems to be working, and although talking about Connie feels a little awkward, it’s no longer painful.

“How are you finding the change?”

“It’s going well. A little overwhelming at times, but in a good way. Does that make any sense?”

“I understand,” Alison nods, “very well, actually: I moved here after my George died. I couldn’t face rattling around in our old home alone.”

“Oh Alison, I’m so sorry,”

“Don’t be. It was twenty years ago. It’s ridiculous, I know-”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Teresa says firmly.

“Thank you,” Alison says with a grateful smile, “and I’ve got the school, the children – I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

“Me neither. Work’s always been a constant for me. I never wanted to do anything else.”

“Sarah told me about your teaching experience in Liverpool. It sounds like we’re lucky to have you.”

They reach a stile at the foot of the hill; Boris clears it in a leap, even with his cone, but Teresa eyes it apprehensively. Alison offers her a steadying hand as she climbs over.

“Thanks,” she says, “and I think the luck’s all mine.”


	5. Chapter 5

Teresa’s third and fourth weeks are similarly busy, but a routine is beginning to establish itself. She’s learning the quirks of her cottage – if she puts the heating on a timer to come on in the morning, the clunking and gurgling of the old plumbing system will wake her at 6am. By 7 there will be enough hot water to bath, and by 8 she’s dressed, made-up and ready to cycle to school. Class begins at 9am sharp; Mrs Barden blows the whistle and the children form orderly lines in the playground. Classes are all going well; the lesson plans she’s made suit the children’s ability levels, and having Pat on hand as support allows her to spend time with children who need some extra assistance. Evenings are little more than marking, dinner, reading and sleep, but she’s not really missing Liverpool (or Connie), so Teresa decides that things are going very well.

Where she can, Teresa does her marking and lesson-planning at the end of the day at school, a way of maintaining a work-home balance she’s practised since she first qualified. The school is disconcertingly quiet after all the children head home at 3.30 each day, but her classroom desk and chair are infinitely more comfortable than the wooden furniture at home.

Sarah and Frances have continued to be very kind, often checking in on her after school, but they and most of the other teachers head home to their families by 4pm. In fact, by 4.30, the only other person routinely still hanging around the school is Alison.

Stretching from her hunched-over position, Teresa decides that a break and some tea is in order. The light is still on in Class 1, so she makes two cups and gently knocks on Alison’s classroom door.

“Alison?”

Alison looks up from her desk. She doesn’t usually wear glasses, for day-to-day life or teaching, but Teresa has noticed them more than once while Alison’s been engrossed in reading or marking, and privately considers that they suit her extremely well.

“I brought you some tea. I didn’t want to bother you-”

“Not at all,” Alison gratefully takes the mug, “thank you. I needed a break.”

“You haven’t been working too hard?” the moment she says it, Teresa worries that teasing might not be what Alison wants on a Friday afternoon, but Alison laughs.

“Hardly.”

Emboldened, Teresa asks, “plans for the weekend?”

“I’m going into Northwich, I need to find an outfit.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know,” Alison removes her glasses and sets them on the desk, “it’s Claire’s wedding in a fortnight.”

“Reception-Claire?”

“Yes; it’s meant to be a low-key event but it rather seems like the whole village is going.” Alison seems a bit unenthusiastic, “oh, but you shouldn’t feel excluded-”

“I don’t, it’s fine-”

Alison sighs into her tea. “I like Claire a lot, but I don’t really enjoy weddings, if I’m honest.”

Teresa perches on the edge of Alison’s desk. “Why not?”

“Oh, mostly just self-indulgent nonsense about being in a room full of couples. It will be a nice time – these social events are always more fun than I think they’ll be.” Alison thinks for a moment. “You should come.”

“I’m not invited.”

“You can be my guest. Boris isn’t allowed in church, and god knows I haven’t got anyone else.”

“Alison-”

“Only if you want to, of course, but it will be a good way to meet everyone socially.”

Confirmation that Alison not only doesn’t mind Teresa’s company but seems to actively want it makes Teresa feel ten feet tall. “Are you really sure you don’t mind?”

She looks shy, which does nothing to stem Teresa’s excitement. “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

“All right then. Thanks Alison.”

Alison seems pleased, and Teresa realises that she’ll be spending this weekend looking for an outfit, too. When she moved to Great Paxford, Teresa didn’t expect to have anything – or anyone - to dress up for.

* * *

On the day, Teresa pairs her nicest patterned dress with earrings, modest heels, and a newly-acquired jacket. The only mirror in the house is on the bathroom’s medicine cabinet, which makes it difficult to assess the outfit in full, but worrying about how she looks, Teresa considers, is likely to lead down the dangerous path of thinking about why she wants to look good. She pushes the thoughts from her mind, puts the finishing touches on her makeup and leaves for Alison’s house with plenty of time to spare.

Teresa follows Alison’s directions - up from the Post Office, turn right at the signpost for Little Easton, only a ten-minute walk – and falls in love with Alison’s cottage as soon as she sets eyes on it. Michaelmas daisies and cornflowers border the garden, wisteria vines cling to the walls, and as she draws closer she can see Boris’ expectant face at the window. Alison greets her at the door in a crisp skirt, shirt and blazer, a formal departure from her usual work attire.

“You look great,” Teresa can’t help the compliment. What level of nervous flirting is acceptable for a co-worker’s wedding?

“Thank you,” Alison says, a very endearing mix of embarrassed and pleased.

“Thank you so much for inviting me.”

“Thank you for coming with me,” Alison says with a self-deprecating smile, “I’ll feel considerably less like Eleanor Rigby picking up the rice at the wedding with you there.”

Teresa is delighted. “Alison Scotlock, was that a Beatles reference?”

“I thought you’d like that.”

This level of flirting is probably too much. “Oh, you’re a woman after my own heart all right.”

* * *

Claire, looking beautiful in a long white gown, is delighted to see them, and Teresa immediately warms to Spencer, who genuinely looks like this is the happiest day of his life. The service is lovely – officiated by Sarah’s husband – and despite knowing neither the bride or groom especially well, she nearly sheds a tear. Teresa loves weddings.

The reception is held in Great Paxford’s village hall, which has been decorated for the occasion; banners and streamers in white and purple are hanging in every direction, and the colour scheme is mirrored with centrepieces of lilies and hydrangeas on all the tables. Past the tables and chairs, a large space has been set aside for dancing, and a live jazz band - a local group, Teresa recognises some of the faces - is performing on the stage.

The party gets underway and Teresa quickly realises that Alison was absolutely right, it is a good way to meet everyone outside of work. She just about manages to keep track of everyone’s other halves; Marek with Pat, Will with Erica – even a very heavily pregnant Miriam Brindsley is in attendance with her husband Bryn.

Teresa is used to the weddings of her nephews and nieces, where there average age skews so young that everybody is too self-conscious and it takes at least an hour and a certain level of inebriation before people are up and dancing. In Great Paxford this doesn’t seem to be a problem; after Claire and Spencer’s first dance, people spill into the dancing areas, as the band play song after song.

Sat together at their table, Alison and Teresa chat companionably; Teresa carefully dodges a few well-intentioned questions about her personal life (now isn’t the time or place), instead asking Alison about Boris, school, everything and nothing. During a natural lull in the conversation, Teresa can't help watching all the couples across the hall moving together to the music; she enjoys Alison’s company very much but it’s a wedding, and Teresa wants to dance. Alison was right, most of the guests in attendance are already coupled up, and while Teresa doesn’t mind dancing with strangers, there is one person with whom she would particularly like to dance. Given that Teresa is only here on Alison’s invitation, she decides there is nothing untoward about asking.

The band starts up a new song, and Teresa drains her glass and sets it on the table. Feeling brave, she nudges Alison’s leg and tilts her head towards the dancefloor. Alison stares at her for a moment, but stands with her, taking her offered hand.

The dance is simple, little more than swaying, but Teresa can’t help but enjoy how nice it feels, just to be so close to somebody, to enjoy the dance for what it is. Connie, all fire and righteous indignation, had a habit of turning personal moments into political statements. This, Teresa considers, is what she’s been missing.

“I haven’t danced with anyone in over twenty years,” Alison confesses, her breath tickling Teresa’s ear.

“I couldn’t tell,” Teresa whispers back.

Teresa tries not to think about how, for Alison, the dance is safe; not a proper dance, like the other couples. After all, they’re just work colleagues – friends – at a social event. Alison seems to enjoy herself though, happy to stay on the dancefloor as the song changes, making no move to swap partners or retreat to the safety of their table.

Too soon, the party begins to wind down. Couples start to head home, and the band begins packing up their instruments. Teresa and Alison leave the Village Hall arm-in-arm, stopping outside the Post Office to part.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Teresa says, feeling fluttery, “I had a wonderful time.”

“So did I,” Alison says honestly, “thank you for coming with me.”

It feels so much like the end of a date – a really lovely, successful date, with chemistry and easy conversation and dancing – that Teresa has to resist going in for a kiss on the cheek.

A moment of expectation hangs between them, then passes.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” Teresa says before things become awkward.

“Good night,” says Alison.


	6. Chapter 6

Teresa’s class has two assemblies a week; Monday morning is the whole-school assembly, usually held by Frances, and after lunch on a Thursday there is a Key Stage 1 assembly normally held by Sarah. Teresa takes her class over to the school hall after lunch on Thursday, the children in surname-order following her in a line like ducklings. Teresa leads them into the hall, makes sure they’re sitting cross-legged in orderly rows behind Class 1, and walks back to her classroom with Alison.

“How’s your week going?” Teresa asks conversationally.

“It’s fine; I think I’m a little tired from the wedding, is all.”

“Are you doing all right?”

“I haven’t had a weekend that social in quite some time,” Alison says with a self-deprecating smile.

They walk along the KS1 corridor and Teresa isn’t sure if they should go their separate ways or if Alison is as keen to keep chatting as she is. Alison holds the door to Class 1 open for her, though, and Teresa follows her in.

“Me neither. Even before I came here-” Teresa trails off.

“What’s the matter?”Alison asks.

Teresa shakes her head, “I’m being silly. Please don’t think I’m trying to run away from a secret, dramatic past.”

“I don’t want to pry,” Alison says carefully, “but if you want to want to talk about anything… I hope you know you can talk to me.”

Teresa counts among her talents an ability to be friendly without sharing too much, but there’s something about Alison, her own reticence, that catches her off-guard. “I had a relationship breakdown. Nothing time and distance won’t heal.” Alison at least deserves honesty.

“So you had to leave?”

“It was for the best.”

“What happened to him?”

There it is. Teresa’s heart sinks. She knows she shouldn’t expect anything else, especially in a rural village, but it still stings. She opens her mouth to make an excuse, brush it off -

“…or her?” Alison asks after a moment’s hesitation.

Alison, so reluctant to make eye contact when they first met, has Teresa pinned with her gaze; playing the pronoun game won’t work, all she can do is nod.

“She moved to America. I… I wasn’t ready. But I needed a change, found the vacancy, and ended up here.”

Alison is quiet for a moment, and Teresa can feel her heart pounding, the silence ringing in her ears. It is such an over-reaction, but the fight-or-flight response to coming out is something Teresa has always had to deal with. No matter how many times she does it, adrenaline courses through her like a river bursting a dam.

“It must have been difficult,” Alison says, tone carefully neutral.

“It’s been okay; I’ve been too busy to really think about it, to be honest.” Teresa desperately hopes she hasn’t ruined everything – Alison did ask her to the wedding, after all, maybe she should have been honest sooner - “I hope you don’t think I've… deceived you at all. It’s just, at work, you know-”

“It’s all right,” Alison touches Teresa’s hand, and the contact is so reassuring – it’s 2016, but working in a primary school carries its risks and prejudices - Teresa nearly laughs with relief, “I understand.”

“Thank you,” Teresa says, a little misty eyed.

Alison’s tone is more confident, “for what it’s worth, I’m glad you ended up here.”

“There you are!” Pat says, entering Alison’s classroom with one of Teresa’s pupils in tow.

Teresa and Alison break apart, though Pat seems too distracted by the child’s sobs to notice anything amiss.

“What’s the matter Archie?” Teresa asks, hurrying over.

“Little lad’s lost his tooth,” Pat gently explains, “I’ll fetch him some water.”

Pat heads off and Archie, still sniffling, opens his hand to show Teresa his missing tooth.

“The assembly will be over in a minute. I’ll bring your class back too,” Alison offers.

Teresa carefully wraps Archie’s tooth in a paper towel, and leads him by the hand back into her classroom.

“Thank you, Mrs Scotlock,” she says gratefully.

* * *

“Thanks, Miss,” says Ruby, a small girl Teresa has allocated some time with for help with reading; a combination of dyslexia and a speech impediment left her too shy to read aloud in class but after an initial reluctance, she has slowly made her way through the reading materials Teresa has prepared. She’s improving, but has difficulty with certain phonics - mostly ch-sounds, which makes Teresa feel guilty for her own surname.

“You did well today,” Teresa says, filling in Ruby’s reading chart, “make sure to tell your parents how you’re getting on, and make sure to practice for a little bit every day next week.”

Ruby nods, packing her books and joining the rest of her class in running out to the playground for breaktime.

Teresa packs up her cards and materials and begins to make her way to the staff room when Sarah collars her along the KS1 corridor.

“Good news,”

“What is it?”

“The pupil premium funding means we’ve got an allocation for some new SEN resources,” Sarah says excitedly, “I thought priority should be given to your class, so take this-” Sarah hands her a brightly-coloured catalogue “-make a note of what you think will be most useful, and if you give me a list when we get back from half-term, I’ll take it to Frances.”

Teresa thinks about the chewed, ill-connecting multi link cubes, the battered and torn flashcards. “That’s great, thank you.”

* * *

The October half-term is fast approaching, and the enthusiasm with which both the staff and pupils approached the new school year is beginning to wind down a little.

After a particularly rambunctious class, restless children let out into the playground for breaktime, Teresa glances at the wall clock with longing – just three hours to go. A knock on the doorframe interrupts her reverie, and Teresa turns to see Alison standing at the entrance to her classroom.

“Are you going down to the staff room?”

“Yes,” Teresa says, and all of her positive feelings about having a week’s break – no lunchtime monitoring, no parents accosting her at the school gate - vanish with the thought that she will have a week without seeing Alison.

This is, Teresa considers privately, as they make their way across the school together, becoming a problem. Teresa has never enjoyed the idea of tempting women away from heterosexuality, and even if there is interest from Alison’s side – Teresa is in far too deep to be able to tell objectively but there doesn’t seem to be another explanation for those touches and lingering glances and secret smiles – she is firmly off-limits. After all, Teresa considers, she and Alison work together, and she hasn’t just uprooted herself and moved halfway across Cheshire to get a fresh start only to repeat her mistakes. That would be ridiculous.

* * *

After school, Teresa catches the train back to Liverpool and spends the weekend and first few days of the week with her family. Returning to the city is a very strange feeling; it’s always been her home, through school, university and ever since she qualified as a teacher, but perhaps because she’s moved away, it doesn’t feel quite the same. The familiarity of the streets, neighbours and people she recognises amid the hubbub of the city – it’s welcoming, but Teresa feels like her place in it has irrecoverably changed.

The people have stayed exactly the same, though. She catches up with her parents, accompanies her younger nieces and nephews to the zoo and cinema, and somehow gets roped into helping Louise set up a Halloween party for the children.

“But do you miss the city? You must.” Louise says, passing over a box of drawing pins.

Teresa thinks about it for a moment while trying to fasten cobwebs in place. “Honestly? I haven’t had much of a chance to think about it. I miss you all, but Great Paxford is so beautiful, and the people are so kind – it’s the change I needed, I think.”

“Cycling everywhere’s not gotten old yet?”

“No, and the bus keeps to its schedule. Your CDs have had some airtime, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Your broken heart mended then?”

She rolls her eyes. “Louise-”

“I’m just saying! You seem so much happier now than you did before you left.”

Teresa has been thinking a lot about how Liverpool has changed since she moved away, but Louise’s question makes her consider the change in herself. “I do feel happier,” she says after a moment.

“We miss you, you know? But I’m so pleased the move has been good for you.”

Teresa nods. “It has.”

Louise’s smile goes from encouraging to teasing, “and is there anyone special out there in the sticks?”

“I’ve only been there five minutes-” she attempts disbelief and diversion despite about twenty years’ experience telling her it won’t work.

“And yet!” Louise says, delighted; “my god, Tess, how do you move to nowheretown, population six, and manage to find- aaah!”

Teresa makes her stop by throwing the rest of the cobweb at her; Louise retaliates by attacking her with a cardboard skeleton. Louise’s children come and join in, and they all end up a mess on the sofa, decorations spilled everywhere.

The change and perspective offered by Great Paxford has helped, Teresa acknowledges as she tickles her nephew, making him squeal. Liverpool will always be there, but she needs the distance, the new people, her poky little rented cottage. Her broken heart has quietly mended, the stitches knitted together like Boris’ after his operation. Thoughts of Boris and his mistress are deliberately pushed from Teresa’s thoughts as she and her family make a start on hanging up black-and-orange bunting.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time she gets the last bus home from the station on Thursday evening, she’s ready to sleep for a week. Teresa loves children, genuinely, but after a relentless half a term at a new school, and making up for missing time with her brothers and sisters’ kids, she’s looking forward to sleep, quiet, and not having to tell anyone off for hair-pulling. She walks home from the bus stop, enjoying the peaceful evening; Steph and her family have started the harvest, leaving an earthy smell in the air, and bats flit about overhead. She unlocks the door to her cottage and it is familiar and welcoming. She heads straight to bed and sleeps for a blissful ten hours.

The rest of half-term passes in a flash; household chores, lesson planning, walks in the country (where she firmly doesn’t hope she’ll run into Alison and Boris again, and certainly isn’t disappointed when she doesn’t), and soon enough Monday rolls back around.

Frances welcomes everyone back to school in the Monday morning assembly, and Teresa catches Alison’s eye across the sea of cross-legged children between them. A few seconds of something unidentifiable pass between them, and Alison looks down and away, a smile tugging at her lips. Teresa struggles to pay attention to the rest of the assembly.

* * *

On Friday lunchtime, Teresa is about to head down to the staff room when her phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Teresa? It’s Claire at reception,”

“Hello Claire.”

“There’s been a delivery for you. Several deliveries actually. Lots of boxes. I’d bring them over to you, but I’m chained to my desk this morning – Jenny’s not here, so-”

“That’s fine; thanks for letting me know. I’ll be over in a moment.”

“Okay. See you!”

Arriving at reception, Teresa realises that Claire wasn’t exaggerating the number of boxes; two large cardboard boxes, each about a metre square, plus an assortment of smaller parcels - some boxes, others posters in tubes - have given the small, usually neat reception area the appearance of an industrial sorting office.

“Goodness.” she says, taking it all in.

“Yes,” Claire agrees, “you might have to make a few trips.”

“I think I can just about manage,” Teresa stacks the boxes – a manageable weight, just very bulky – and Claire helps her with the door, “thanks.”

Teresa makes it as far as the KS1 block without incident - Steph obligingly helps her through the door into the building - but her luck runs out when, turning a corner towards the classrooms, she crashes straight into Alison.

Boxes go flying in every direction, but both women manage to avoid falling. “Alison, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alison bends down to help pick up the parcels, “I should look where I’m going; are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,”

“There’s nothing breakable in these, is there?”

“There shouldn’t be.”

“Are these for your room?” Alison brings the parcels through.

“Yes – thank you so much.”

Between them they set everything down in Teresa’s classroom. “Is this everything?”

“Yes; one trip might have been a little ambitious.” Teresa laughs. “I need some tea before I start unpacking; can I get you one? As an apology for nearly knocking you over?”

Alison smiles. “Thank you.”

* * *

Alison nurses her tea and watches as Teresa makes a start on unpacking her mountain of parcels. Bean bags in striped primary colours are the reason for the two largest boxes, and Teresa sets them out in the corner.

“What do you think? For one-to-ones; better for reading, much better for children with ADHD.”

“They look very comfortable.”

Teresa takes a seat. “They are.”

Alison looks amused for a moment, then joins her on the bean bags. “What else do you have in your arsenal?”

“Posters, flash-cards, stickers – I know it looks like overkill, but honestly it does make a difference.”

“You care a lot,” Alison observes.

“I want to be able to give every child the same opportunities,” Teresa says; Alison is undemanding, just watching with understanding eyes, but Teresa feels compelled to explain herself, “I come from a big family. Two of my brothers have learning difficulties - they weren’t supported in school. Teaching’s all I’ve ever wanted to do.”

Alison nods. “There was nothing else for me, too.”

“Have you always been a teacher?”

“Since university. I met George when we were both students, we did our training together.”

Teresa grins. “A husband-wife teacher team?”

“George… wasn’t my husband.” Alison confesses, looking down at her mug.

“I didn’t mean to-”

“We lived together, loved each other, but were never married,” Alison says, her tone carefully even. “it wasn't… legal twenty years ago. As I’m sure you know.”

A beat passes, and Teresa blinks in confusion before her eyes widen in sudden, miraculous understanding.

“She died – cancer. Her family permitted me to attend her funeral as her close friend. We’d promised each other our lives together but the years we had were the happiest-”

Alison’s voice cracks and she takes some fortifying breaths, manages to hold herself together. Teresa waits patiently for her to finish.

“So when I came to Great Paxford, I presented myself as Mrs Scotlock. It’s silly, I know. But when George was alive we were never able to show the world what we meant to one another… so I took on her last name when I moved. I don’t have any family - aside from Boris, I’ve been alone ever since.”

Teresa takes Alison’s hand. Alison looks up, her eyes a little watery, and she laughs quietly at the tears in Teresa’s eyes.

“What are you crying for?”

“It’s just – it’s so sad,” Teresa wipes at her tears with her free hand, “I’m so sorry, Alison.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Alison says, “but thank you all the same.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“You trusted me with your secret first. You’re very brave, you know; George would have liked you.”

They sit together on the beanbags for a few minutes, Teresa outwardly serene but her mind racing to process the new information. The whistle signalling the end of lunch jolts them from their quiet moment.

Teresa helps Alison up with their still-joined hands, but steps back to a respectful distance as children begin to pour in from the playground. “Thank you… for your help,” Teresa says, “for everything.”

Alison nods, then slides her mask back into place as she returns to her own classroom.

* * *

A consummate professional, Teresa makes it through the rest of the day without any indication anything has changed. PE and science are a good distraction, both action-packed enough that she has to keep wholly focused on the children, leaving little mental space for anything else. The compartmentalising doesn’t last into the evening, though, and as Teresa attempts to read her book, eyes glossing over the pages but not taking anything in, she can’t stop thinking about Alison.

The preoccupation with Alison isn’t new, of course, but Teresa isn’t sure what to do. She knows, as sure as she knows her own name, that Alison is physically, emotionally, intellectually attracted to her. Alison isn’t good at hiding it – probably isn’t trying – but doesn’t seem willing to bring it up, to act on it, which, in quiet moments between classes, at the end of the day, Teresa understands. After all, after twenty years of self-imposed solitude, anybody would be nervous.

Teresa has taken the initiative in several of her relationships before – she is discreet and private, but not closeted – but the stakes have never been quite this high. Their personal and professional relationship is so good, they work together so well, that Teresa is reluctant to incite any kind of change.

Except, she considers, the change could be so good. She thinks about waking up next to Alison, about being able to lean over during a walk when they reach a hill’s summit and kiss her, about evenings together, sharing the best bits of their class’ work, until one of them decides it’s time to head up to bed. It’s the kind of relationship she’s dreamed of having, but she doesn’t want to push, not before Alison is ready.

Giving up on her book, Teresa decides to head upstairs and get an early night. Her room feels empty, her bed too big, but she eventually drifts off to sleep.


	8. Chapter 8

Winter has truly arrived in Great Paxford. The days are growing so short that Teresa cycles to and from work each day by streetlight, and the children hurry indoors from the playground each morning, bedecked in hats, scarves, and gloves threaded through their coats on a length of yarn.

The Nativity play, obstinately a staple of the Great Paxford Primary school calendar, involves all of KS1, and while Sarah has been taking the lead on casting and directing, the play requires input from Teresa and Alison as well.

Teresa has been tasked with helping the children in Class 1, 2 and 3 learn the songs. She isn’t especially musical, but when she sees Alison assisting the children in constructing props out of papier mache, or Sarah patiently trying to help children remember their lines, she can’t help but feel she’s drawn a long straw. _Little Donkey_ , complete with actions, doesn’t seem so bad. In fact, the whole play has Alison and Teresa working together quite closely, a situation about which Teresa cannot bring herself to complain.

“Have you honestly never done a Nativity play before?” Alison asks after school. She sits on the edge of Teresa’s desk, stitching scraps of fleece together to make a whole sheep costume as Teresa writes her end-of-term reports.

“I’ve only taught in nondemoninational schools before,” Teresa says, “this is… quite an experience. Are you sure I can’t help you with all the sewing?”

Teresa asks because she feels she should – she rather embarrassingly outed herself as someone with extremely limited sewing skills the previous week, but courtesy is more important than ego.

“We both know how that will end,” Alison says with a teasing smile.

Teresa feigns hurt. “Don’t you teach your class that you only improve through practice?”

“Yes,” Alison says, “but we don’t have time to unpick the king’s robes if you accidentally sew them to yourself.”

“There you are!” Sarah appears at the classroom door, and Teresa and Alison both jump a little. “How are you getting on?”

“Very well,” Alison says, holding up her handiwork, “Sheep 4 is almost done.”

“Wonderful,” Sarah says, then rummages in her bag to produce two hand-addressed envelopes which she passes to Teresa and Alison, “from Frances.”

Teresa opens her envelope, expecting a Christmas card. The card, while Christmassy, has an RSVP.

“The Christmas party,” Alison says, turning hers over in her hands.

Christmas work parties, in Teresa’s experience, were lighthearted, casual events; a venue would be booked, teachers and other staff would come together for a meal and a slightly overindulgent amount of alcohol, then bid each other farewell until term started back up in January. A personal invitation to the headmistress’ house is most unexpected.

“It is unusual, even for us country folk,” Sarah says, as though reading Teresa’s mind, “but that’s Frances for you. It’s a good time, though, and we’d like to see you there.”

“All right,” Teresa nods, “thanks, Sarah.”

* * *

By the time Alison finishes Sheep 5, Teresa has completed the reports of the children with surnames K through R and they both decide to call it a night. Alison waits patiently as Teresa retrieves her bike from the rack, and they make their way from the school into the village together, Teresa walking alongside her bike.

“Are you going to Frances’ do?” Teresa asks. She hopes it’s casual; she doesn’t feel casual, and Alison’s blue eyes are strangely omniscient, but there’s a chance she’s playing it cool.

“Oh yes,” Alison nods, “I can’t be a hermit all the time. And Frances doesn’t mind if I bring Boris.”

They draw to a halt outside the Post Office, reluctant to part. The village is quiet, nearly deserted, and the sky is a dark blue as the night draws in. “Is that you sorted for a date, then?” Teresa asks.

“Oh, don’t be silly-”

The flush of pink across Alison’s cheeks spurs Teresa on. “I was going to ask, actually.”

“You were?”

“Well, you invited me to Claire’s wedding. And I know you’ve got an invitation too, but I wanted to ask… would you like to come with me?”

Alison looks so nervous, so uncertain, that for a moment Teresa worries that she’s going to say no. After a beat or two of consideration, Alison asks “as your date?”

“If you like.”

Alison ’s voice is firm. “Yes I would.”

* * *

The last few days of term are too busy to spend any time obsessing over the Christmas party; the children are so excitable that lessons feel more like battles, and the date of the Nativity play performance looms, eclipsing all other events.

On the day of the play, turnout is much better than Teresa expected; some parents and other family have to travel considerable distance to make it to Great Paxford, but as the lights go down and the children take to the stage, the hall is full to capacity. The play is almost perfect – some cues are missed, but everything flows well and, best of all in Teresa’s opinion, the children seem to really enjoy themselves. The teachers join the audience in a standing ovation at the end, and the look of pride on Alison’s face as her class take a bow – Gabriel bows a little too deeply and his halo falls off – almost takes Teresa’s breath away.

* * *

Teresa and Alison arrange to meet for the party outside the Post Office and take their time strolling over to Frances’, so by the time they arrive at the party, celebrations are well underway. Frances greets them at the door, and Teresa tries not to look agape at the grand house, decorated tastefully and expensively for Christmas. Familiar faces – from work, Claire’s wedding, and around the village – fill each room, and glasses of mulled wine, spiced cider, and buck’s fizz are flowing freely. Alison introduces a few people, a simple “this is Teresa,” accompanied by a casual touch, just enough to suggest that she is, in fact, Alison’s date for the evening. Teresa knows how difficult it must be – the introductions as much as anything else – but doesn’t know quite how to communicate that Alison’s efforts make her feel so happy she could sing.

“I might take Boris outside for a moment,” Alison says after a while, “I think the excitement’s a little too much for him.”

A moment of silent acknowledgement passes between them, where they both know Alison is talking about herself, “but you can come, if you like.”

Teresa takes Alison’s hand and they slip away from the party, out through the conservatory and into the garden.

The garden is as beautiful as Teresa expected; sweeping lawns with well-kept borders reach as far as Teresa can make out. Strings of fairy lights hang from some of the conifers near the house, but the winter evening is too dark to see past the edge of a large pond.

Alison, hand still warm in Teresa’s, huddles close. “It’s chilly.”

The air is bracing after the energy of the party but Teresa enjoys Alison’s closeness. The clear sky looms overhead. “You don’t get views like this in the city.”

“Are you going back to Liverpool for Christmas?”

“Yes, and the New Year. It’s a busy time.”

“I can imagine.”

Teresa looks at Alison. “Are you…”

“Spending it with Boris?” Alison nods, “Yes. Sarah and Frances always offer, which is very kind, but Christmas is for family.”

“I’ll miss you,” Teresa says. It’s important that Alison knows.

“I’ll miss you, too,” says Alison.

The air between them is heavy with anticipation; Teresa wants to tell Alison how, even with the distraction of family, the weeks apart will be difficult, how much she’ll be looking forward to returning to Great Paxford, but Alison gently, firmly, speaks first.

“I’m not very good… at this. I’m not good at much outside of teaching and Boris. I haven’t needed to be; being alone has suited me. But I don’t feel alone when I’m with you. I look forward to seeing you, and I miss you when you’re not here, and I haven’t felt like this in a long time. And… I’m not sure what to do.”

There is uncertainty in Alison’s eyes, a fear that has been present, to varying degrees, in nearly all of their interactions. But she has said what she needed to, and Teresa feels privileged and proud.

“What would you like to do?” Teresa asks.

“I think I’d like to kiss you,” Alison says.

Teresa takes Alison’s other hand; Alison is trembling slightly, either from cold or nervousness, and in the festive glow of fairy lights their lips meet. Teresa feels warmth spread through her as Alison almost sighs into the kiss, an acknowledgement of months of attraction and longing.

Alison brushes her mouth reverently against Teresa’s once more, and when she moves back, eyes half-lidded, Teresa feels the cold and dark of the evening keenly.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” Alison says quietly, looking at Teresa with something very close to love.

“So have I.”

Alison kisses her again, and again, until the winter cold is completely forgotten.


	9. Chapter 9

_Two months later._

The day dawns overcast and gloomy – fitting, Teresa supposes, given where they are going. Teresa isn’t really sure of protocol when you go to visit your girlfriend’s former partner’s grave. She tries not to overthink it – Alison is simply quietly pleased that she’s coming – and picks up a small bouquet of gladioli from the corner shop on her walk over to Alison’s house.

Alison drives them to the cemetery. The town is a good forty-five minute journey from Great Paxford, and Boris curls up against Teresa’s feet in the front footwell. As she carefully navigates the country roads, Alison tells Teresa about her time spent in Little Tilston; the house she grew up in, the first school she taught at. Teresa has picked up bits and pieces about Alison’s past, but sharing details about her life before Great Paxford seems to be Alison’s way of emotionally preparing herself as much as Teresa for their visit.

As Little Tilston begins to appear on the local roadsigns and the countryside gives way, first to farmhouses on the outskirts of civilisation, then the edges of residential areas, Alison grows quiet.

Alison’s brow is furrowed by the time they draw to a stop at a set of traffic lights on the entrance to town, and Teresa touches Alison’s hand, resting anxiously on the gearstick.

“Are you all right?”

Alison nods.

“I’m happy to wait in the car, if that would be easier. I can keep an eye on Boris.”

Alison smiles gratefully and some of the tension leaves her shoulders. “Thank you. But I want you there.”

“All right then,” Teresa squeezes and releases Alison’s hand as the lights change and the traffic begins moving once again.

The churchyard is neatly kept; the grass is freshly-mowed and while the yew trees that line the edges are a little overbearing, Teresa imagines that, on a more sunny day, they would provide welcome shade. She holds Boris’ lead – dogs permitted in the churchyard if kept under strict control – and Alison fusses at the graveside. It is obviously well tended, but she removes some lilies that are beginning to decay in the damp cold and replaces them with Teresa’s flowers.

Teresa reads the inscription on the headstone: _August 1967 – October 1995 - Here Lies Georgina Elizabeth Scotlock: Daughter, Sister, Friend._

“She hated Georgina,” Alison says, stepping back to join Teresa, “the ‘friend’ was for me. Her sister made them put it on; her parents never approved.”

Alison takes her hand, and it takes a moment for Teresa to notice that something is different, and another to realise that it’s the absence of Alison’s wedding – not-wedding – ring.

“We were never married,” Alison says carefully, “but if we were, our vow would have been 'till death do us part’. I loved her, and a part of me will always love her, but it’s time to let her go.”

Teresa doesn’t say anything but stands beside Alison at the graveside for as long as she needs. Boris whines and eventually Alison reverently touches the stone, then turns away.

“Are you all right?” Teresa asks as they make their way back to the car.

“Yes, thank you,” Alison nods, a small, grateful smile on her lips. “There’s a tearoom in the village – dogs are allowed - would you like to-?”

“Of course.”

* * *

Teresa wraps her hands around her teacup; the tearoom is cosy, complete with a small crackling fireplace, but the chill from outside clings to her skin like damp.

Teresa deliberately chose a table with multiple seats so Alison could decide how close to sit – they’re not in Great Paxford, but Alison used to live here and is nothing if not reserved – but she sits next to Teresa on the sofa in the corner without hesitation. Teresa feels the residual cold lift.

“You’re only here until next Spring.” Alison says.

It’s not the conversation starter Teresa would have opened with, but she goes along with it. “That’s when Miriam’s due back, yes.”

“Surely that’s the same thing?”

“Not necessarily.”

Alison meets her eyes, “you said, before… she wanted you to go with her to America and it was too soon. I don’t want to push you away-”

“I don’t want you ever to feel like you have to compare yourself to Connie, or anyone before,” Teresa says, “just like how I’m not replacing George.”

Alison nods.

“I do want to stay. Great Paxford has become like home to me,” Teresa says, “Frances said that Miriam might not want to come back after her maternity leave is over, and if she does, there’s plenty of schools around.”

Alison looks so happy – shy, tentative, but happy – that Teresa can’t help grinning too. “I might have to finally get a car.”

“Will that be a problem?”

“Only because my sister will find out and I’ll never hear the end of it. She knows about you, by the way.”

“You told her?”

“She noticed something was different,” Teresa says, “apparently you make me happy.”

“You reminded me how to be happy,” Alison says, then adds with seriousness, “and Boris has grown very fond of you. He’d miss you terribly if you left.”

Boris looks up at the sound of his name, and Teresa surreptitiously feeds him a biscuit under the table. “I’d miss him, too.”

They finish their tea, huddled together on the corner of the room; Alison insists on paying.

“Are you ready to head home?” Alison asks eventually.

“Yes,” Teresa says firmly, and takes Alison’s hand as they head back to the car.


End file.
